


Split

by YanderexBabydoll



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Blood Kink, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/M, Face-Fucking, Jekyll and Hyde, Knifeplay, Minor Character Death, Rape/Non-con Elements, Split Personalities, Yandere
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:28:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27472006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YanderexBabydoll/pseuds/YanderexBabydoll
Summary: Atsumu’s the monster that hides beneath the surface, the violent beast lurking patiently behind the easy charm and lazy smirk that drew you in, but he wants as his other half does.His impulses, his desires - they’re a reflection. A magnification, you suppose.You wouldn’t be here otherwise.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Reader, Miya Osamu/Reader
Comments: 27
Kudos: 277





	Split

“Some girl stopped by the shop today.”

The statement itself is fairly innocuous, there’s no reason for it to make the skin on the back of your neck prickle, your heart skip a beat. But maybe it’s not so much the words themselves, but the one who’s saying them.

Or the familiar, glinting kitchen knife he’s absentmindedly toying with, the sharp tip tracing delicately over the bare skin of your thigh. 

Atsumu smirks as you try in vain to fight back a shiver. It’s barely touching you, certainly not with enough pressure to actually slice through the skin - wickedly sharp edge or not - but he could. He has before; a name carved artfully into your hip, another on your inner thigh. Proof, you suppose, that no matter where you go or how far you run, you’ll always belong to him. 

(Sometimes you wonder if it’s not just for your sake that he marks you, but for Osamu’s as well.)

Today, he seems content just to tease, watching in amusement as goosebumps prickle in the wake of his blade. You’re always so _responsive_ , it’s one of the things he loves so much about you - or so he tells you. 

You know better than to play dumb, but silence can be equally as damning, so you hum in quiet acknowledgement, shifting uneasily beneath him as you wait for him to continue. Atsumu’s never been the type for idle chit chat. He wouldn’t care that some random woman visited Onigiri Miya (it _was_ a restaurant, after all), and he certainly wouldn’t have bothered stomping down here to tell you about it unless it was somehow relevant.

The fact that _he’s_ showed up at all means that it can’t be anything good. 

He eyes you for a long moment, drinking in the fear you still haven’t quite managed to learn to hide from him. But there’s a hardness there, lying behind the smirk. A glint of something dark and angry, the sign of a beast wild and vicious, beating at the bars that hold it at bay. That, more than the knife in his hands, is the reason that you’re afraid. 

“An old friend of yours, Misako or somethin’. Had a lotta questions ‘bout you, kept bugging ‘Samu until he kicked her ass out when the rush came through.”

Misako. There’s a burning ache in your chest at the sound of your old friend’s name, you miss her so much, but-

“Y’know the cops gave up on ya a while ago, babe. Don’t know why the bitch is still sniffin’ around,” he says with a sigh, shaking his head. 

She was the first person you rang when you found out you got the position at Onigiri Miya, giddy from excitement about finally landing a job near your brand spankin’ new apartment. And when you realised the burgeoning crush you were developing on your handsome boss, she was the one you gushed to, the two of you giggling into the phone like you were nothing but teenagers back in school. She’s _your_ person, your best friend, the one you could turn to for anything (like ‘come help me hide a dead body’ anything).

The police could write you off as a cold case, shove your missing persons file in the back of some cabinet to gather dust while they moved onto somebody they could actually help, but Misako never would.

And by the vicious glint in Atsumu’s eye, that was something that should make you very, _very_ afraid. “But ‘S-Samu got rid of her right? She doesn’t know anythi-”

The knife digs in, cutting you off with a sharp hiss. The both of you watch as a thin line of blood beads to the surface, and Atsumu grins.

“Maybe yer right,” he muses. “But ya shoulda heard the way she kept goin’ on and on about it. She seems real worried about ya, babe. Kinda made me a little mad, if I’m bein’ honest.”

The silence between the two of you is deafening. You wonder if he can hear the way your heart’s thumping erratically in your chest, if he can sense the tightness in your throat as you force yourself to swallow your panic _down_ before it can sweep you away entirely. He’s toying with you, you know he is - like a cat batting around a half dead mouse it has no intention of eating.

“Atsumu…” it’s little more than a whisper, hoarse and desperate, but it makes his grin widen nonetheless.

The knife in his hand stills, and carelessly he tosses down on the mattress beside you, hand moving to grip at your thigh. His thumb sweeps across the shallow cut, smearing your blood over his finger before he brings it to his parted lips, pink tongue darting out to lick at the bloodstained digit. 

He hums, eyes falling closed for a split second as something akin to contentment graces his face. He looks beautiful like that, smiling dreamily, even under the jarring fluorescent basement light. You wonder sometimes how you could have been so blind to the monster lurking beneath his skin, but when looks like that, when he _smiles_ \- you remember the way your heart sped up, your cheeks warming as butterflies fitted about your stomach the first time you’d met him. He’s beautiful, unfairly so, but that beauty is nothing but a lure, and you were the one dumb enough to go chasing after it.

The bloody knife lying forgotten on the bed between you two draws your attention, daring you to reach out and _take_ it. Atsumu’s momentarily distracted, you could try it. You might even be quick enough to snatch it away from him before he realises what you’re doing and tries to fight you for it. He’d win, you know he would. He’s strong, but you could be _fast_ … 

Your hand twitches restlessly, breath catching in your throat-

Atsumu isn’t that careless, and it’s a game you’ve played before.

(Played before and _lost_.)

The moment passes, and those dark, soulless eyes flicker open. “I’ve still got yer phone upstairs. Why don’t I put yer friend’s mind at ease, let her know we’re takin’ such good care of you, hm?”

You don’t say a word, staring at him in mute horror.

“Better yet, I could go tell her in person. Whad’ya think, sweetheart?” His hand comes up to cup your face, his thumb stroking your cheek in a mockery of tender affection. “I just _hate_ the thought of somebody else wastin’ so much energy worrying about my pretty girl.”

You think of Misako, the first time you met her and the easy, careless way she gave her love to anybody who took more than a moment to look past the tough exterior she hid herself behind. She’s sweet and _good_ and the thought of her alone in a room with a monster like Atsumu makes your blood run cold.

“Please, ‘Tsumu, don’t-”

He grabs at your jaw, squeezing your cheeks until the pain of it forces you silent with a whimper.

“Convince me,” he purrs.

“W-what?”

“If you don’t want me to go find that fuckin’ nosy bitch and carve ‘er up like a Halloween pumpkin…” his smirk widens and your stomach _plummets_ , “convince me not to.”

Your eyes dart down to Atsumu’s knife. 

You know better.

You’ve tried this before.

(It doesn’t end well for you.)

But in your blind panic, none of that matters. You just act on instinct, and grab-

Fingers snatch at your wrist the moment your hand wraps around the handle, squeezing mercilessly until it feels like the fragile bones in your wrist are going to _break_ and you let go, the knife clattering back onto the bed.

Atsumu laughs - _laughs_ \- and picks it back up, flipping and catching the blade with practiced ease, “Not what I had in mind, baby, but hey, if you wanna play like that…” he trails off with that lazy, half cocked smirk that makes your blood boil.

“I hope you choke and die, you sadistic fucking bastard!”

The words slip out before you can hope to stop them, and your breath catches in a horrified gasp as his eyes widen. It’s been a long time since you lashed out, even longer still since you lashed out with Atsumu. 

But instead of the swift backhanded slap you brace yourself for, he beams at you with wicked delight. 

It’s infinitely worse.

“Now there’s that _lovely_ spark I’ve been missin’!” 

He seizes you by the back of your neck before you have a chance to backpedal, dragging you into a kiss. As his tongue invades your mouth, and the knife in his other hand drags a slow trail up between your breasts to come to a rest on the delicate skin of your throat, you wonder if the lingering coppery tang you can taste on him is really there, or if it’s all in your head. 

“Now, why don’t you suck on my cock instead, and we’ll see how generous I’m feelin’ when yer done?”

He doesn’t give you so much as a beat to respond, dragging you both to the edge of the bed and tossing you carelessly to the ground. It only takes him a moment to cast aside the knife to unbuckle his jeans and childishly kick them off, his boxers following a moment later. He grabs his cock, half hard, pre-cum beading at the flushed tip, and gives it a few cursory strokes, staring through lidded, hungry eyes.

The smirk written across his face reminds you all too much of the cat that got the canary, but as long fingers reach for your hair, stroking through the unruly locks for half a beat before tightening, yanking your head forward, you don’t fight him.

Not out of any fear for your life - no, in some sick, twisted way you know that he won’t hurt you too badly, would never go so far as to kill you - but it’s not _your_ life that hangs in the balance. It’s not for your own sake that you open your mouth and let your tongue flick out, swirling around the weeping cock head, scooting forward to press a kiss to the tip. Diligently, you lap up the salty pre-cum - fighting back a shudder when he groans appreciatively - and swallow it down with a barely concealed grimace before falling back to sit on your thighs, keeping your gaze fixed on your lap.

You’ll do it - whatever he wants. Suck his cock, settle yourself down on his lap and ride him while playing with your tits, let him paint your face with his cum - whatever crude, degrading, awful things he asks, you’ll do if it means he won’t touch your friend. 

But you won’t pretend to enjoy it.

Far from being put out by your less than enthusiastic reception, Atsumu laughs again. “Aw, well look who’s decided to play nice after all,” he coos, his hand still fisting at your hair. “It’s cute, but I think I wanna see you _choke_ on it, sweetheart.”

You barely have time to brace yourself on his thighs before he’s dragging your face toward his crotch once more. Atsumu is merciless as he forces you to swallow him down. He’s big, not just in length, but thick too. Your jaw aches from the stretch, and when he rams the back of your throat you gag, the muscles of your throat unwittingly tightening around his length.

Atsumu swears, his grip tightening painfully.

Tears burn in the corners of your eyes and you force yourself not to panic, to breathe through your nose, but it’s hard when you’re choking around his cock, your nose being forced against his navel as he bottoms out with a snarl and starts to fuck your face in earnest.

He snaps at you between breathless moans to play with his balls, and with trembling hands you comply. You try your best to end this quickly, dragging your tongue along the vein on the underside of his cock, hollowing out your cheeks and trying to relax your throat to take him better - but it’s easier said than done. The lewd, slick sounds of you gagging with every eager thrust echo out crudely in the basement around you, broken only by Atsumu’s moans, and the backhanded praise he showers you in.

“ _Fuck_ baby, look at you, swallowin’ it down like a good little whore. S’like you were made for this, suckin’ my cock. My pretty cock slut, so fuckin’ perfect for me, aren’tcha?”

Humiliation burns through you, but you force it down, will yourself not to break as his fingers card through your hair.

“You walkin’ through Samu’s door was the best goddamn thing that ever happened to us, ya know that, right?”

He says it with a breathless laugh, but that doesn’t take away from the fact that he truly believes it. Atsumu’s the monster that hides beneath the surface, the violent beast lurking patiently behind the easy charm and lazy smirk that drew you in - but he wants as his other half does.

His impulses, his desires - they’re a reflection. A magnification, you suppose. 

You wouldn’t be here otherwise, you wouldn’t still be alive.

Atsumu’s hips stutter, and a heady groan slips from between clenched teeth. He’s close, rutting into your warm, wet mouth with renewed vigour. 

It’s all you can do to clutch at his thighs as he fucks you desperately, chasing his high. You feel his muscles tense beneath your touch, his abs tightening as he grips you tightly by your hair and forces your head forwards, burying your face in his dark pubes and anchoring you in place.

He thrusts one final time, snarling as he gazes down at your wide, tear filled eyes and shoots his warm, thick load right down your throat.

You choke and splutter, falling to the floor the moment he releases you, heaving in desperate gasps of air as fresh tears mix with the drool and leftover cum coating your chin. It must make for a pathetic sight, but Atsumu just chuckles, dropping back onto his elbows with a grin and beckoning you forward with a single crooked finger.

“C’mon, sweetheart. You didn’t think we were done just yet, did ya?”

–

Your body aches, littered with bruises, blood, bite marks and cum - all remnants of Atsumu’s own brand of devotion - by the time he finally rolls off of you and collapses onto the mattress with a contented sigh.

For a moment neither of you move, your harsh pants as you try to catch your breath the only sound in the basement. The air’s thick with the scent of sex and sweat, of _him_ (he smells like summer - citrus and the ocean while Osamu’s more spice and the woods, smoke and honey melding into one rich, intoxicating scent) choking you with every ragged inhale. He reaches for you, tugging you closer and draping a muscular arm across your waist - and you let him. You’re exhausted, aching and while you’ll do whatever you can to hide it from him, a hair's breadth away from shattering like fine china. 

Atsumu whistles lowly, thumbing at the scar on your hip and pressing a surprisingly affectionate kiss against your hair. “God _damn_ , babe. I really gotta threaten your friends more often if yer gonna let me fuck ya like that just to try an’ keep me distracted!”

You stiffen, blood running cold. “W-what?”

He chuckles, squeezing your middle once more, “Didn’t even need the knife to get’cha to play along. You must really care about savin’ that irritating little _bitch_.” 

Your pulse quickens, he has to be able to feel it with his bare chest pressed up against your back. His lips hover your ear, his warm breath fanning across your face, “But if I’m bein’ real honest with ya, darlin’, it does kinda piss me off. Can’t help but feel a little… jealous, I ‘spose. Yer still _my_ girl, aint’cha?” he spits. “It’s just not right for you to be thinkin’ so much about somebody else when yer here with me.”

Fear wrenches at your heart, “No, please!” You’re scrambling to grab at the arm that’s already withdrawing as Atsumu pushes himself back up. “Don’t, you _can’t_ -”

He silences you with a kiss, squeezing your jaw and patting your cheek twice when he draws back. Amusement, cruel and vindictive, dances in those pitiless depths as he reaches around you to grab his abandoned blade, waving it tauntingly in front of your face. “Can’t forget this now, can we?”

“No, I’ll do anything! Atsumu _please_!” 

You’ll beg on your hands and fucking knees if you have to. You can’t let him hurt her.

You can’t.

And for a single beat, he stares at you, and you swear you see a flash of something other flicker across his face.

You blink and it’s gone, and even that cheap glee is stripped bare, leaving nothing but resentment, cold and _burning_ as he appraises you. His fingers twitch, as if he’s tempted to reach for you, to tuck the stray lock of hair that’s fallen across your face back behind your ear or brush away the silvery tear tracks that mar your soft cheeks.

But he doesn’t. He only sighs. “Don’tcha see, baby? That’s the problem.”

He doesn’t say another word as he moves off the bed, bending over to pick up his discarded jeans and tee as he passes. It takes a second for his words - the realisation - to kick in, but when they do it feels like you’ve been doused in ice water, shocking every cell in your body. You leap after him, uncaring of your own nakedness, forgetting about the shackle that keeps you from running too far.

You slip when it pulls taut, bare knees scraping against the concrete floors as you scramble to right yourself. He doesn’t stop as you beg and plead through hoarse sobs.

You can’t let him hurt her, you can’t let him hurt her, you can’t, you can’t, you can’t!

The chain has no more give and he’s already at halfway up the basement steps.

“Osamu! Osamu _please_!!” You shriek, tugging frantically at the thick lock wrapped around your ankle. “You promised! _OSAMU_!!”

He pauses at the top of the stairs, his shoulders straightening as he glances back and shrugs. “Sorry, darlin’. ‘Samu ain’t the one drivin’ tonight.”

The heavy door slams shut behind him, your desperate screams falling silent in his wake.

–

He’s the one who comes back to you hours later, his dark clothes filthy and torn, the dried blood smeared across his jaw contrasting sharply with his pale, unblemished skin. Impassive grey eyes give nothing away as he slowly makes his way down the basement steps towards you. 

Frozen, your heart pounding in your throat, you can’t seem to make a sound as he unzips his hoodie and shrugs it off, tossing it over the bannister without so much as breaking eye contact. His arms, toned and lean, are covered in claw like scratches, his neck too and there’s blood under his fingernails, splattered across his ripped tee. 

You try not to think about what that means. 

Atsumu’s a killer, you _know_ that, but that doesn’t necessarily-

“‘M sorry,” he murmurs. “I tried ta keep him in check…”

The rest of his sentence fades into white noise.

He killed Misako.

He killed her.

Phantom claws tighten around your chest, squeezing, and for a moment it feels like you can’t breathe, it’s just _pain_. Raw, jagged, agony that tears and bites and consumes every ounce of you - and you don’t even realise that you’re sobbing, wailing, until Osamu’s kneeling down on the bed beside you, sweeping you up into his arms.

Apologies flow from his lips, washing over you like sea-foam on the shore. He kisses you fervently - your lips, your cheeks, your hair, again and again murmuring excuses, justifications, cradling your trembling form against him. 

He likes to pretend that he’s blameless in all of this. That Atsumu’s the monster here and he’s the good one, the loving partner who only wants to keep you safe and tucked away from the rest of the world. And if that means chaining you to a bed in the basement of his house and treating you like a glorified fuck toy - so be it. 

It’s easy for him to forget that Atsumu might be a beast unto himself, but ‘Samu’s the one who lets him out in the first place

Osamu wanted you, so Atsumu took you. 

‘Samu felt threatened, so he let ‘Tsumu take care of the problem. 

You have a sneaking suspicion that Osamu isn’t nearly as powerless over his counterpart as he’d like for you to believe. After all, he’s the one who ends up reaping the rewards when Atsumu comes out to play.


End file.
